


I Like You Much Too Much

by questionablemotive



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 'Cause there aren't enough of these, F/M, No actual smut just allusions to smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 07:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20059984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionablemotive/pseuds/questionablemotive
Summary: Nancy Wheeler does not retreat, no matter what some paranoid journalist says. And apparently, neither does Jonathan.Or:Yet another 2x06 "after the door slammed" fic, because we always need more of those, right?





	I Like You Much Too Much

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first posted work here, and hopefully I got the formatting correct. I didn't have a beta, even though I edited it myself, so if you see any mistakes let me know. There's seriously not enough content for these two, even if everyone and their dog have written this scene, this my little interpretation of it.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Screw this,_ Nancy thinks, casting the pillow she’d been holding in her lap aside as she jumps from the bed, striding determinedly to the door. She is not afraid. She refuses to be. She does not retreat. Not now, not from this. Screw that crazy, drunk, asshole. He doesn’t know her at all.

(Except that he does. He was absolutely right. She’s terrified, of everything. Terrified of losing someone else, terrified of being like her parents, terrified of _not_ being like her parents… Terrified that the gnawing sense of guilt in her chest will never fade, terrified of what it says about her if it does. More than anything else, though, she’s terrified of what she feels. There was no hiding with Jonathan, just who she is. Just Nancy Wheeler, whoever that may be at the moment, and he looked at her like _that_ anyways. And boy, did it scare her.)

She isn’t even sure what she’s going to say to him when she finally reaches him, finds him on that stupid, _unnecessary_, pullout couch in the office. She just wants to be near him, to feel this tangible connection between them, no matter what the excuse is for her to do so. She won’t retreat.

(Not like last time. Not like after the longest, most agonizing month of her life, desperately wanting to hear from Jonathan and fearing what would happen if she did. And Steve was _there_ and he was _normal_ and he didn’t scare her the way Jonathan does, and he wanted her, so she gave up. She retreated to the safety of Steve, told him she loved him when she didn’t mean it, couldn’t mean it, not when another guy had stolen her heart right out from under her. If there’s one thing in this whole mess she feels really bad for this year, it’s that Steve got hurt. That she couldn’t keep up her walls to protect them both.)

Her fingers curl around the handle of the door to the guest room, and she pulls it open, lost in her own head, trying to figure out what to say to Jonathan, only to find Jonathan _right there_. She pulls up short and looks at him with wide, impossibly blue eyes. The look in his eyes is different than it was earlier- darker, more intense. He’s not hiding from her, not now. Not again. She could say she’s surprised when he kisses her, but she’s not. His lips slant over hers perfectly, like they were made to be there, and her heart does a flip, while heat ignites in her stomach, electricity zipping through the air around them and between them.

What surprises her is how _right_ it feels, and she jumps back, terrified. For a heartbeat, she wants to retreat again. Go back into the guest room and pretend this never happened. But much like the matching scars on their hands, she knows this will leave a matching mark on them both. They can’t go back, and she’s struck by the fact that she doesn’t _want_ to go back. Her eyes find his again, and everything she feels is reflected in their dark depths. The _want_ and _need_ , this insane magnetic pull between them. So in her mind, there really is no choice. She steps forward and brings her lips to his, her hand finding his cheek, fingers lost in the edges of golden brown hair. His arms come around her as their mouths move together, pulling her closer, in tighter, like he can’t get enough. She can’t either, her fingers holding his face to hers, her free arm wrapping around his shoulders. It’s a year of wanting, craving, _pining_ even, pouring out all at once. It’s her dropping the last of her facade, him letting her fully in. Trusting her, in spite of everything. It’s the last of the denial vanishing between them, leaving only _this_. This raw, pure, intense connection, filled with need and want and something that feels a lot like love.

She’s not sure which one starts them back towards the bedroom, but it’s her who shuts the door with a sharp sound. _Finally_, the part of her brain not consumed with the feel of his lips on hers, the warmth of his body against hers, the swooping sensation low in her belly, dimly thinks. When he lowers her to the bed, covering her smaller body with his own, she stops thinking altogether, lost in how he makes her feel, in the waves and tingles of how _good_ it all is, how _right_ and _perfect_ she finally feels. At one point, he tangles the fingers of his left hand with hers, their matching scars pressing together, and it’s more intimate, more loving, than _anything_ she’s ever experienced before. The happiness she feels balloons in her chest, leaving her feeling lighter than she’s ever felt. And when she goes flying into the stratosphere, he’s right there with her, his hands still tightly linked in her own.

Later, after, when they’re catching their breath and her head is on his chest, listening to his heart pounding in time with her own, she lets go of her last denial, and accepts the truth her heart has been screaming at her for a year now- that somewhere, somehow, she’s fallen in love with Jonathan Byers. With this boy just on the cusp of being a man, who grew up too quickly because of his father, who takes pictures to capture what people are saying. Who pulled her out of a tree, and stayed in her bed with the light on because she couldn’t stop seeing that _thing_ . Who not only helped her burn that _thing_ down, but is helping her get justice for Barbara. Jonathan, who loves freely, protecting his little brother with all his might, her best friend, her… everything. She can see it now with crystal clarity, and she knows she was so, _so _blind. She needs him, and he needs her, and she just accepts that.

His fingers slide between hers on his stomach, idly toying with their hands in the afterglow, a contented smile pulling on his lips, his eyes light and sparkling. “What’re you thinking about?” He asks softly, turning their hands this way and that in the soft, golden light from the lamp. She finds herself smiling, tilting her chin to see his face.

“You,” She answers simply, pushing herself up a little to look at him better, “And how we should have done this a year ago,” She leans forward and gently places her lips on his. It’s like now that she’s started kissing him, she can’t seem to stop. She’s instantly addicted to the way he tastes, smells, feels. To the little noises he makes when she does _this_ with her lips, or twists her tongue just like _that_ . How he learned her so quickly. Judging by the dopey look on his face when they part, he feels the same way about her, and _God_, if that isn’t a rush of it’s own. Knowing that she affects him as much as he affects her. She’s giddy with it all, unable to stop smiling.

“Maybe so,” He murmurs, tracing his thumb along the scar on her palm. For a moment, regret crosses his face, and her heart clenches. “I’m sorry, Nancy,” He says softly, his rich, dark eyes traveling up from their hands to meet her eyes. “For not...” She’s not sure what he’s going to say, but she has an idea- for not coming to you sooner, for not fighting for you, for withdrawing for a year, and whatever it is, she doesn’t care.

“Jonathan,” She interrupts, her hand pulling out of his and coming to settle on his chest, right over his steady heart. “It’s okay,” She says, equally as soft as he did, “I’m the one who should apologize. I should have waited longer… Or gone to you, I don’t know,” She sighs, ducks away from his gaze, and she feels his fingers brushing some of her dark, near black, curls behind her ear. His hand rests on her cheek, encouraging her to look at him. In his eyes, she finds understanding, and a similar longing to what she’d felt all year. She waits for him to say something, entranced by the way he looks at her. Like she’s the most precious thing in the world to him.

“We’re here now,” He murmurs, “That’s what matters,” He decides, and she feels herself melt against him. He leans up to kiss her, and she really does melt this time, Going boneless against him as the kiss slowly turns from soft, and sweet, to something deeper, more intense. As he rolls her over and trails kisses down her neck, she finds she couldn’t agree more. They’re here, now, and together, exactly where they’re supposed to be. Why should anything else matter?

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and comments are much appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
